A Common Passion
by Lea Sees SparksFly
Summary: Lauren Taylor is a self-taught violinist. She uses her talents to help her single mother earn a living. Her extraordinary gift is still undiscovered until on one of her usual sidewalk performances, when a famous boy band decides to watch her play.


******So, (if you've read the teaser) instead of posting the whole chapter 1, which is long, I decided to cut it into parts**. **In this way, I could make the story interesting especially when the main character meets the boys.**

The clanking noise of coins pouring down onto the violin case was distant and utterly petty to me.

Right now I stood on a vast expanse of glistening grass, the verdant sky reaching mountains just a few miles ahead. A cold draft of wind has been making my long hair billow in storm waves.

My acoustic violin was propped up on my left shoulder and my fingers moved flawlessly across its fingerboard, lightly pressing the strings as I played the piece "Canon in D" by Johann Pachelbel. It seemed that I have been playing the song for a thousand years even though I only started fiddling the main verse. It was a song I have been eagerly practicing and playing since, at a young age, I started to perform for people. Its soothing tone took over my mind, my body – basically, my whole being – just like it always did these years.

Beautiful, ear-caressing music was all around. My mind melted with the musical notes soaring up into the sky, filling the clouds with a melodious breeze. This was the same kind of feeling that kept on pushing me forward to practice and play, then practice and play. My life revolves around my violin and the music it produces.

Swaying along to the pleasantness from the birds' chirps directly overhead down to the hushed echo of my footsteps, I was only half-aware that my feet were slowly taking me somewhere, though I did not bother since I knew this was my paradise – lovely and very harmonious.

I hummed along to the song's melody while my arm gracefully moved the bow to and fro, almost brushing the instrument's bridge, and for a split second I had a crazed thought the song was devastatingly ruined. I inhaled a tranquil breath. Brightly, I smiled like a child receiving her dream toy, like problems and disappointments were just mere imaginations of the world.

I first heard the astounded gasps. Then more clanking sounds, which meant more coins. Hands were beginning to clap, some deafeningly, some simply for the sake of joining with the others. I knew – always knew – what their faces would look like: noses twitching while watching with half-sickened eyes under furrowed brows. Despite their apparent insensitivity, however, I feel solely contented and happy with the few who take time in listening to my music.

I was about to end when a familiar earsplitting voice dominated the applause.

"That one again?" Then a blending of evil laughter.

The moment my eyes pooped open, the sun's blinding rays greeted it till I had to instantly pause my playing and rub the little tears in my eyes away. It took some time before I adjusted and got a sharp view of the vicinity.

A good number of persons have gathered around, watching. A plump woman in a lavender Sunday dress, probably in her forties, was standing to my left, her hand rummaging inside her Louis Vuitton shoulder bag. A tall, dark man had his arms crossed over his muscular chest, his plain white shirt soaked with sweat, and his earphone dangling at his side. Not too many stood less than a meter from me. One who did was a little girl sucking a strawberry lollipop, oblivious of a white baby Terrier tugging at the hem of her skirt.

A lot of different people were there and I could have enthusiastically spent the whole day talking, thanking, and playing another of my favorite songs to them if not for a cluster of three smirking goddesses that got my attention at once. As I returned their sharp looks, all the others simply melted into the background, and my paradise turned into a crater of an erupting volcano, the sizzling, bubbling lava a single scream away.

Both hands on their perfectly-curved hips, they have calm smiles etched on their faces in spite of the I-am-so-gonna-bust-you-deal-with-it expressions they gave my way. An untrained eye would least expect them to be scoundrel teenagers – they honestly have that trendy hot chic aura glowing in them, if you ask me. But, of course, I knew better.

Immediately, I turned my gaze at the men and women nonchalantly backing away, dragging their chattering children with them.

"Thank you," I said vehemently to their backs. A few heads whirled around, beaming and waving goodbye. I waved back.

Out of the corner of my eye, I observed the three whispering devilishly with each other, and a few times, they'd sneak a vicious glance at me. I was having a hard time restraining my arms to throw the violin at their faces.

"You can't forever ignore us, Laur." A thick American accent filled my ears.

Still, with much effort, I ignored them. The tall black man had put back on his earphone and started jogging away, sweat spattering in his wake.

The middle-aged woman in the Sunday dress, who rummaged for something in her bag, now held a silver, diamond-studded wallet, and withdrew from it a paper bill. With a single, smooth toss of her arm, it fell as subtly and airily as a feather down onto my violin case. I watched it float for a short time and got a clearer view of its value as soon as it rested on the green velveteen inner covering of the case. A hundred dollar bill!

My mouth widened in surprise.

Swiftly, I shot my head back and faced the woman, laughing. Hardly anyone would be so generous to give me fifty dollars and over, let alone a hundred bucks! I thought my day just got scratched, and sabotaged, and shattered into a billion unfixable fragments because of those three looking like they're planning a murder scene.

The woman drew nearer and when she was close enough, I got a better look at her façade. Yes, there were the naturally occurring, but a few only, wrinkles, some creases lining above her brows, and the roots of her hair had started to grey.

Though her physical appearance was evidently aging, her eyes sparkled like a newborn star, her smile as innocent as a baby recognizing her mother.

She took hold of my hand carrying the violin's bow. "You were wonderful. That piece you played touched my heart, reminding me of my husband." A small droplet of shining tear streamed down her sagging cheeks. She sniffed softly. "It used to be our song until… he had to leave."

My eyes pricked just by watching her. Until now, it hadn't occurred to me that classical melodies can be a lovers' theme song. I always think of _The Carpenters_, _Air Supply, The Beatles, _and those music stars of the 60s and 70s. My parents' song was Wind Beneath My Wings by Bette Midler. I barely knew the lyrics but the song kept replaying on our CD player every day and night. Sometimes my Mom and Dad would dance in the living room, singing along to the lyrics of the song, and they would often grab me and my sisters to enjoy with them. It was always like this especially on Friday nights until… until 5 years ago…

"Wherever he is now, I bet he's listening to it, heartily. And I'm sure he loves you, too." I managed to give her a weak smile, squeezing her hand in mine.

"I see your talent. You ought not to be performing at corners and beside cafes only."

"It's…my life these days."

About three heartbeats passed and she only looked at me, silently and sincerely. Withdrawing her hand and fixing herself, she turned away to leave, presumably heading to the big church nearby.

"Wait," I called out.

The woman hurriedly walked the cemented sidewalk and swerved around the corner, vanishing as quickly as a blink of an eye.

I sighed heavily. I badly wanted to express my thanks not only because of the money, but also for her watching and appreciating my playing the violin. Rarely someone would have the zeal to stop by and have a chat with me, talking about random stuff under the sun, laughing like good old friends. In fact, the only human beings who have done this are my childhood best friend, Kris, and oftentimes my neighbor, Mimi, who became a best friend of mine the moment I stepped foot on the front steps of our new house, way back 5 long years ago.

I bent down to pull the case closer, seeing that it was unexpectedly full of gleaming coins and stiff bills, thanks to the kind-hearted Americans who I supposed contemplated at me with their utmost pity.

"The girl whose impecuniosity obliged her to use her music skills to earn a living," Mimi used to joke, and I could imagine her presence at this moment, chanting that saying in her high birdsong voice, dancing in a goofy circle until she couldn't anymore, then we'd laugh hysterically, not minding the curious brows of passersby. How I wished she was here.

As I gathered the coins and bills in my cupped hands, an orotund quality of voice said, "Hi, Lauren."


End file.
